The Wedding Journey. Cheryl St.John
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investments in Boston.”
Her English was proper with no hint of a brogue. Maeve glanced at Dr. Gallagher to gauge his reaction to the pretty young miss. He didn’t seem interested in anything but her shoulder as he moved close. “I don’t see any bruising. Help her back into her sleeve, Miss Murphy.”
Once her dress was in place, he probed the area with his fingertips. “Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
“This?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s quite painful.”
Without a warning knock, the cabin door opened and Nora entered, stooping to accommodate her height. Her face was flushed, and she wore an expression of worry and concern Maeve had seen far too often. The surprising thing was that she cradled a bundled apron against her breast.
“Nora?” Maeve said, turning to meet her. “Whatever is…?”
“I was in the storage apartment, searching for a bag of salt, when I moved aside a sack and heard the oddest sound, like a mewling. I thought perhaps a kitten had been closed into the depot of provisions. Just look now what I discovered lying between the sacks of oatmeal, Maeve.”
Her sister lowered the apron to reveal what lay within its folds. Maeve stepped close, and her heart caught in her throat.
An infant, obviously no older than a few hours or possibly a day at most, lay with eyes pinched shut, fists at its face, turning its head this way and that with mouth wide open.
Maeve stared in astonishment.
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